


A Christmas Wish and True Love's Kiss

by FawkesyLady (Tarma)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Miracles, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Minor Character Death, Surprise Pairing, True Love's Kiss, promise kept
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16983219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma/pseuds/FawkesyLady
Summary: There was much more to Sybill Trelawney than anyone ever suspected, including herself.Winner of the Harry Potter FanFiction Collective - Hogwarts for the Holidays: Cerberus Award for "The Most Fluffy."Thanks to Havelocked and Coromandel for your beta-loving goodness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyWitch/gifts).



* * *

 

 

**Hogwarts Castle: Christmas day, 2001**

 

Sybill was nervous as she approached the Headmaster’s office. There was an energy in the air, a weight that she knew meant something big was about to happen.

 

She’d made predictions over the years, of which she never remembered any, the last she told was in the midst of class, over three years ago. In between, her deep relationship with magic allowed her to see and know things that others missed. It was a talent, and while related to the true all-seeing eye, it was not the same thing at all.

 

Sometimes that tender sensitivity drove her to drink, as it had five years ago when even the blindest witch could tell that terrible things were about to happen as soon as that pink, nasty toad showed up.

 

Through the war, her instincts served her well. Her home, her children were attacked and she would not stand for it. Later, Horace Slughorn surprised her with compliments on her bowling skill. Sybill had never been bowling, for that was a Muggle past time, but she appreciated the sentiment all the same.

 

“Password?” The gravelly voice of the gargoyle guarding the door broke her out of her reverie.

 

Fidgeting with one of her rings, Sybill rifled through her mind, trying to recall what it was this time. Maybe if she couldn’t remember, they could have this conversation in a less fraught moment? Tempting.

 

No, that would not do. He’d ordered her up today. They were probably the only two left in the castle, the pair that preferred to be away from noise and frivolities. He’d track her down if she didn’t appear, so she might as well get it over with.

 

Headmaster Snape often chose potions or combinations of potion ingredients. “Ashwinder?”

 

The Gargoyle shook its head, “No.”

 

“Absinthe and Elf Wine?”

 

_“Definitely not_.” The Gargoyle managed to contort its features into an approximation of a sneer, which is difficult to do with a beak.

 

Ah, that’s right. It was: “Asphodel and Wormwood.”

 

The door swung back and a moving spiral staircase carried her upwards. Her heart fluttered in her throat as she’d no idea of why she had been called this time. She was off of probation, officially, and she’d been sober for over three years. Her success as a teacher was no better, as it took a very special sort of child to learn her arts and all too rarely did she encounter anyone sensitive enough, much less possessing true gifts.

 

As her eyes came level with the floor, she looked down, brushing off her shirt in an effort to make sure that she wasn’t still wearing evidence of her breakfast.

 

“Professor Trelawney. Happy Christmas to you. I hope you are well.”

 

“Eek!” Sybill nearly jumped out of her skin, for the Headmaster was standing immediately to the side of the staircase in a shadow, where she hadn’t noticed him. He always seemed to be _lurking_. “Uh, yes, Severus. Thank you. Happy Christmas to you as well.”

 

She imagined that the Headmaster had plenty of invitations of his own if the papers were to be believed. Many sought his company, and though some lucky witches were photographed on his arm to various functions, she’d noticed that it was never the same witch.

 

Sybill felt drawn to him, always had. He was a black stormcloud that most tried to avoid, but to her he had a magnetism that sent chills down her spine. With a glare Snape could make her feel like a spotty faced girl of 13, all elbows and sweaty palms. Not a lot had changed in two decades, although the spots stayed away if she didn’t touch chocolate.

 

Snape, on the other hand, was outwardly repulsed by her. She didn’t know how to handle his verbal attacks, so she pretended not to hear. Funny how people thought that her hearing must be as bad as her vision. Convenient too.

 

Since his ascendance to the position of Headmaster, Snape had maintained an air of professionalism, extending protection to her as he did to all of his Faculty. But she hadn’t ever mistaken it for any sort of regard or friendship. He’d never accepted her invitation to call her Sybill, preferring to stick with formality.

 

She wasn’t so inexperienced as many assumed. She’d had relationships, was married even. But that hadn’t lasted even an hour, as when they went to sign the license, she’d refused to change her name. And that was the end of that. Something had felt off about the whole thing, but she’d not been certain that he wasn’t the one for her until the very last moment.

 

Better late than never, they say.

 

For the past few days, she’d been feeling the weight of the Headmaster’s attention. It was unnerving. Even a little exciting. He was watching her with different eyes, for he didn’t seem annoyed or resigned by her presence as usual. It was as though he’d just noticed her, after all of these years.

 

Looking back at him, acknowledging such a probing, intense scrutiny was difficult for her. She’d become accustomed to people not noticing her. They’d slip around her like she was of no more consequence than a portrait… less even, for very few wished her a Happy Christmas, but nearly all would speak to the Fat Lady or Headmaster Dumbledore given the opportunity.

 

A few favoured pupils were kind to her, but no one really seemed to see her, not like she fancied that Severus noticed her now. Why would that change?

 

A gentle pressure at her elbow reminded her to move her feet. “Thank you for sparing a moment to speak with me today.”

 

“Y...yes. Headmaster. Of course.” She thought a moment, then added… “If this is about the drinks, I assure you I’ve not touched aught but tea since 1998. I swear...”

 

“No, I know you haven’t. Please, have a seat and I will endeavour to explain what is a matter of some delicacy. It isn’t just me who wanted to see you today, but also Albus.”

 

Her foot bumped into the straight-backed wooden chair that he’d placed opposite the austere desk with the chair’s twin where the ornate throne Dumbledore used to occupy once sat. She wondered fleetingly if the gilded thing was absorbed into his portrait, taken by the Ministry, or had met some other form of mischief after the Headmaster’s death.

 

She’d never believed that Snape had really murdered Dumbledore, but no one ever listened to her. It was the family curse that went along with her talent for seeing the future.

  
“What?” Noticing that the Headmaster was standing very near, she sat down heavily, miscalculating in her distraction the height of the seat with a grunt of surprise.

 

Frowning, Snape let go of her arm, and then instead of sitting behind his desk, he hitched one hip up on it. Now that she looked at him closely, he was dressed strangely. He wasn’t in his usual teaching robes, but rather a casual Muggle ensemble, consisting of beat up old jeans, a T-shirt with a muggle band on it, so faded that she couldn’t decipher it, with a black suit jacket overtop, perhaps for a touch of formality.

 

He always looked so tall, so dark. She’d always thought he was one of the most attractive wizards she’d met, but he’d never have considered her. She was the opposite to his clean, austere lines. He was dangerously competent, powerful, brilliant. She was… Sybill Trelawney.  The only balls she’d be gazing at for the rest of her life were the of the crystal variety.

 

A surge of resentment burst in and soured her admiration, so she looked resolutely away. She knew she was something of a clown, a ridiculous washed-up has-been of a witch kept as one collected bits of furniture for their historic purpose. One day she might wake up with a tag about her neck. Instead of “Harry Potter Farted in This Chair in 1994,” it would say, “Reason Evil Wizard Attacked a Baby.” She was nobody. She should take herself off and go back to be mothballed in her attic.

 

As quickly as it appeared, her bitterness dissipated. It was by this wizard’s sufferance that she remained in her post, as many thought Dumbledore meant to eliminate the class from the curriculum entirely before his attention was taken up with the war.

 

Her eyes fell on the two-dimensional likeness of Albus Dumbledore. She still was in awe of him. Here was a man who’d defended her, was kind to her on days like this. She supposed she could thank him for today’s summons. Habit -- must be.

 

She’d share tea with the portrait as she had the man, offer to read his leaves, they’d have a good chuckle, and she’d go back to her tower. Alone. She should appreciate his thoughtfulness. No one liked to be alone on Christmas.

 

“Severus is correct. I wanted to see you, Sybill. It has been too long since we’ve had a chat. How are you feeling?”

 

Truthfully, she wasn’t feeling great. Instead of drinking sherry, since she’d promised Albus she’d stop, she had turned to reading for escape instead. She’d come down with a fever for novels and was working her way through the library’s offerings. She had even, feeling quite naughty, sought out a Muggle bookstore where she shopped to find herself a holiday treat.

 

That very night, she’d been awake until three am, immersed in a compelling romance, where a woman was shot back in time by one of the standing stones that littered the countryside. The man she’d fallen in love with, who wasn’t the husband she’d left back in the future, was truly her soul mate. It was _fate_.  

 

She’d wondered why the heroine had spared so little thought for her old life at first, but as the romance grew, it became clear that the pair were soul mates, magically reunited across the ages.

 

She felt a kinship to this poor, lost sassenach, for she felt out of place too. The stories she read made her feel more alive than she had in over a decade. She was thinking new thoughts, alien ideas beyond surviving one more day. Her dreams were becoming more vivid than ever - emotionally riveting. Jamie was alive when she slept, and in her dreams at least she felt loved.

 

When she woke back to this reality, this morning, she wept for what would never be. She was entirely, utterly alone. Still, it wasn’t what the Headmaster or Dumbledore wanted to discuss, entirely too maudlin for Christmas morning.

 

“Well enough, thank you. And you?” She winced internally at the lie and the awkward redirection. Who bloody asks the portrait of a dead friend how they feel?

 

Now she couldn’t look at either Severus or Albus. She wondered if she might conjure herself a shadow to hide in. Or, better still, a hole to swallow her up. That was always her first instinct. Retreat. Hide. Run.

 

A dry chuckle brought her back to the room. “Quite well. I wanted to apologise to you, Sybill.” Dumbledore sounded sincere, and the sadness she saw in his eyes pierced her heart.

 

“What?” The air seemed to thicken in her throat with dread. They were going to kick her out, she was sure of it. Plant her somewhere else, in a circus or a retirement home for washed up witches. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes and she stammered, “Surely there is no need, sir. You’ve always been so kind to me. Always.”

 

Headmaster Snape abruptly stood up, pacing away with quick steps. She glanced at his retreating back with increasing alarm but could not make out his expression for he was silhouetted against the bright cold winter sky framed in one of the new windows.

 

“Nonetheless, I have been deceiving you for the past twenty years, Sybill. I assure you that it was necessary, and at the time it was the only thing I could do to protect you both. It is time to return to you that which you’ve lost.”

 

For a woman who was a professional at reading between the lines and making dramatic statements of her own, she was quite lost. Sybill had no idea of to what Dumbledore was referring.

 

A snarl from across the room distracted her. “Dumbledore, just tell us what needs to be done. I don’t think I can stand much more of this _waiting_.”

 

He’d taken his wand out, and Sybill began to believe that Snape was angry with her. Worse than getting fired, she was about to be cursed.

 

Bile rose up in her throat, yet she didn’t cower under the weight of that powerful glare. She was getting tired of being pushed about. “Yes, just… let’s just get this over with. Whatever it might be. I’m sure _Sev_ has better things to attend to.” Indignation pushed her to her feet so that she could stand on a more even footing with her would be assailant. Pride had come to her rescue, poor armour that it was, empowered for the defence of her tattered self-esteem.

 

She watched the Headmaster lower his wand with a look of deep dismay. It was immensely satisfying. That feeling was short-lived, for then Dumbledore spoke.

 

“True love’s kiss is all it takes. The enchantment will end, and you will be restored to your rightful self.”

 

Sybill’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Too many ideas ran through her mind all at once.

 

_True love, rightful self? What’s this rubbish?_

_He’s playing with me. A Christmas joke, a bit of a laugh._

 

_No one would ever love such a dried up mess like me. I’m too old._

_It’s not safe._

_What if it is true? What if there is someone out there for me?_

 

“What enchantment? I don’t remember agreeing to any such thing!” Heat rose in her cheeks as she realised she’d said that aloud. She meant it, though. Who the bloody hell did Albus fucking Dumbledore think he was? And to set it to be keyed to a kiss with some imaginary fated lover who was never going to show up?

 

Severus strode back over and stopped at her side. Her rage robbed her of the paltry sight she managed through her thick glasses. Hot, fat tears formed, fogging up the lenses.

 

She opened her mouth to give Dumbledore another piece of her mind but her breath caught as Snape’s form moved in close, shocking the words right out of her mouth.

 

Hands gently cradled her cheeks, and she was pretty sure that it had to be the Headmaster. “Would you do it for me, Sybill?”

 

His voice was low, rich. It was one of his best features. Although she reflected, he smelled pretty nice too.

 

When she didn’t answer, he went on. “If nothing happens, we can decide what to do with Dumbledore’s portrait in retaliation together. Whatever you desire.”

 

That was Severus Snape, alright, but… Did he want to kiss her? That couldn’t be right. Magical kisses only worked in fairy tales.

 

She pulled away. He let her retreat a few steps, and she turned her back to get a moment to herself. Taking off her glasses she wiped her face with one of her scarves, a brocaded silk in garish colours that the Patil twins sent her. They gave her a new one every year, tradition. It always cheered her up, although she knew it looked terrible on her.

 

“Am I that repulsive to you, Sybill?”

 

She whipped about to face him, setting her layered skirts swirling about her ankles. “No! I…” She stopped as she took in the blurry form of Severus Snape slowly stepping closer and closer to her. As blind as she was, she could see the tension in the lines of his shoulders, the way he carefully kept his hands at his sides.

 

As he neared, she had to tilt her head back to look at him. She could have stepped back, but she was rooted to the spot. He halted a few inches from her, and at this distance she could see a deep pain in the lined face of her Headmaster. She’d never seen him so affected by anything.

 

His emotions were so intense that they radiated off of him in waves. Agony. Hope. Yearning. Agony. She trembled at the force of it.

 

“Please. One kiss?” He was begging her.

 

There was no jest, no japery here. Her reservations melted completely away under the force of that magic word. Licking her lips, she couldn’t say anything, afraid to break the spell. She nodded once, a concise but clear dip of her chin.

 

She could feel his breath brush her face, a long slow release of pent tension. He smelled of cinnamon. “Thank you, Sybill.”

 

As he bent towards her she closed her eyes, wondering if she was about to wake up because this couldn’t possibly be real. And yet, she wanted it to be, _so very badly_.

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was much more to Sybill Trelawney than anyone ever suspected, including herself.
> 
> For the HPFC Hogwarts Holidays Festival, Competition  
> Prompt: A Christmas Miracle
> 
> Thanks to LW and CM for your beta-loving goodness.

Severus had noticed something changed about Sybill weeks ago. It was subtle at first. She’d laughed at one of his jokes during the Halloween feast, right as he made it. She was sitting up straighter. 

 

Outwardly she looked exactly the same. Her frizzy hair had gone at least a quarter grey and looked to be the exact texture of an Airedale’s coat: wiry and possessed of a soft underlayer. He’d once made a joke about being thankful that she didn’t shed. It wasn’t appreciated at the time. No one laughed. 

 

In fact, he was pleased that they didn’t. It was the sort of humour that was typical of a bully, an image he’d been obliged to keep up at the time. Sybill was always an easy target, and to his consolation, she didn’t seem to perceive that he was aiming at her, at least almost never. 

 

She’d been locked out of even the socially forgiving world of Hogwarts’ faculty fellowship because she was nearly blind and always absorbed in some sort of internal world that didn’t extend an invitation to many, especially the doubters. 

 

Now, Sybill seemed to be waking up. Over the breakfast table, she’d compliment Pomona on her success with a student, or Minerva on the colour of her hat. He wasn’t the only one who noticed the transformation. 

 

Even Poppy Pomfrey was surprised, mentioning that Sybill had come down from her tower to see a sick student, and had brought with her a tin of Twining’s tea that Poppy always loved but rarely obtained, it not being sold down in Hogsmeade. 

 

Out of sheer habit, he’d made a snide comment about the current fashion of the dreadfully ugly sheepskin boots that were taking over the castle by storm. He thought it ridiculous like the wearer was gadding about in bedroom slippers instead of applying themselves to their schoolwork. 

 

“Well, if you’d motivate yourself, you could convince the castle to tighten up its cracks and increase the dungeon temperatures, then your students wouldn’t need to waste their energy on warming charms or wear such ugly boots, Severus.” She’d held up a foot to reveal that she had acquired herself a pair of black ones, showing a scandalous length of striped-stocking clad leg above it to boot. 

 

He’d been left utterly speechless. 

 

Everyone knew he was a black-hearted bastard. It was a fair assessment. He was good at it. He missed those days, really. He disliked the effect of being named a war hero had on his public image. No matter what he did, very few found him unapproachable any longer. Sybill had remained reliably terrified of him until that moment. At the time, to the sounds of the raucous laughter about the staff table, he’d taken it as a sign of the true death of his old persona. 

 

Day by day, Sybill changed. He’d always thought that she was strange, mousy, and uninteresting. Desperate. He’d a sense that if he showed her even the smallest kindness, she’d latch onto him like a parasitic eel and he’d never be rid of her. 

 

Now, she didn’t seem to give a fig if he was in the room or not. 

 

He’d discussed his observations with Minerva over tea in his office after the students left for the Holidays before she too departed for happier ports. She’d expressed concern that Sybill had planned to stay in the castle over Christmas Holidays yet again this year. 

 

After Minerva left, Dumbledore’s portrait roused himself to confess a great secret, one that had brought Severus to his knees in shock. 

 

“Sybill Trelawney died 20 years ago this Halloween, Severus. She was the first target that Voldemort ordered murdered that night. By the time the Aurors reached her, there was little to save. St Mungo’s did all they could, stabilising her for a time.”

 

This was news to him. “But no one claimed the kill, or even breathed a word.” 

 

Raising his shaggy eyebrows, Dumbledore smiled. “Karkaroff was apprehended and obliviated for the act by the Unspeakables. You see, I had approached a friend in their ranks with the problem of protecting the Potters. Not just Harry, but also Lily and James. It was the right thing to do. They’d developed a powerful protective ward, one that could theoretically deflect the Killing Curse. Naturally, they’d failed to find any wizards brave enough to test it.” 

 

Spreading a hand with an expression of sorrow, he continued. “As you know, the effects were in practice wildly unpredictable. Harry, a baby, survived. His magically mature father died on the spot.” 

 

Mouth dry, for he’d left it hanging open, Severus croaked… “And Lily?” 

 

“At first,  we were certain that it failed. Harry was the only obvious success. I questioned if that ward did anything at all, believing that it was the power of his mother’s love that protected Harry that night.” 

 

None of this was news, and Severus ground his teeth in frustration. “And then what happened?” 

 

“For all of our efforts, Lily appeared to be gone, felled by the betrayal of a close friend just like her husband. When her body was released to the Coroners it was discovered that she was still quite alive, thrown into a deep coma from the strain the measures we’d taken placed on her magic. With a little help she revived, although she remained very weak.” 

 

Severus clutched the chair before him, closing his eyes as he tried to process the news. 

 

“Headmaster, you should sit down, dear.” It was Dilys, the Headmistress and Healer. She’d always been so kind. “Before you fall down. I’d hate to have to run all of the ways to St Mungo’s tonight.” 

 

Two glasses of whiskey later, Severus’ world still spun and not from the alcohol. 

 

Lily was  _ alive _ . He wanted to laugh, to cry, to  _ rage _ . 

i

She was right under his nose all of this time, hidden in a place that even he would never have thought to look. Dumbledore had kept his promise.  _ Lily was safe. _

 

He was still trying to wrap his mind around the details. An unknown Unspeakable hero had saved Lily, and with her eventual consent, sent her into deep cover as Sybill Trelawney, the seeress who was responsible for the attack on her family in the first place. 

 

A lonely spinster was a perfect disguise. This example was so successful because it was so much more than Polyjuice, it was a partial possession. She was hosting Sybill, her own soul slumbering. The Healers had been able to transfer enough of the seer’s essence to endow a mirror with her talent and memories before her body failed. 

 

This deception was a way for Sybill to get a few more years back, but also to help the person most directly harmed by the results of her own Prophecy.  _ Both women _ agreed to this scheme. 

 

Two decades passed and the enchantment, which needed to be renewed every ten years, was fraying about the edges. Now that he knew, Severus could pick out the signs. Everything was  _ so obvious _ now. 

 

Dumbledore explained that if they waited, eventually the threads of the enchantment would fail entirely, and Sybill would return to her mirror, having lived many more years in the world that she would not have otherwise enjoyed. Lily would return confused, but entirely in control of her own body and mind.  

 

There was a way to bring Lily back sooner, with a single kiss. True love’s kiss. It was built into the enchantment, intended as a fail-safe, added in the case that the war ended sooner than they’d feared.

 

How would Lily feel about any of this? Her son had grown up and lived to fulfil his fate. She’d been able to see part of his childhood, but never really had an opportunity to know him. Harry’s only true memories of his mother were those evoked by the magical manipulations of Dementors and Snape’s own pathetic recollections of the best and worst times of his life. 

 

Would she forgive him at last? He could never make things truly right between them, but by Salazar, he’d died a hundred little deaths trying to honour her memory. To protect her son. To defeat the evil that had nearly destroyed them all. 

 

He’d spent a long, restless night. Dumbledore had given him a choice: Wait for her to come through gradually, or to bring her back now?

 

It wasn’t really a choice, was it? He’d done everything he could with what he’d known. Ignorance was the only excuse he had for it taking this long to release her. 

 

Penning a missive, he wished Sybill a Happy Christmas and asked if she’d honour him with her presence that morning in his office, at her earliest convenience. He was thankful for Trelawney’s sacrifice, for the miracle that she’d made possible in her death. He wished there was something he could do for her in return. 

 

If he had known what Sybill had done for Lily, he’d surely have kissed her of his own volition well before now. Would Sybill know what was coming? With that kiss, he was returning her to her proper death, or in this case, continued existence as a mirror hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries; an eternal advisor for generations to come. 

 

As it was, out of respect to both witches, he paid extra attention to his ablutions that morning. He’d dressed in clothes he hadn’t worn in years, feeling for all the world closer to his younger self, before he took the mark, getting ready for a first date. 

 

He dared not bring a rose. It could be conjured, when the moment was right. 

 

His eagerness saw him surprising her at the door. He could see her confusion, her doubt. Bitterness and anger mixed with a defiance that spoke of the passionate red-headed girl he once knew distracted him. 

 

When she’d said “Always,” he nearly jumped out of his skin. Magic was messing with him, fate. Then, she called him Sev and infuriated him with the same breath. 

 

Was she rejecting him? 

 

Yet, the look in her eyes, the confusion when he’d suggested that he was repulsive to her was heartening. 

 

He begged. He used the one word that always worked on Lily, no matter what he was asking. 

 

“Please?” 

 

Thank Merlin, it still worked. His last words were not for Lily, but for the soul he’d underestimated and resented all of these years. 

 

“Thank you, Sybill.” 

 

She’d shut her eyes, but he kept his open as they connected and prayed that he still had a love pure enough to break the spell. He focused on battening down his regret and fear, meditating on just how wonderful Lily is and how very much he’d missed her.

 

 


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was much more to Sybill Trelawney than anyone ever suspected, including herself.
> 
> For the HPFC Hogwarts Holidays Festival, Competition  
> Prompt: A Christmas Miracle
> 
> Thanks to LW and CM for your beta-loving goodness.

Lily awoke with a start. It was cool and dark, and she was curled up comfortably in a nest of blankets. A beam of light hit the bed, and she sat up with a muzzy, “Hmm?”

 

The form of a woman appeared in the doorway and for a moment Lily thought it might be her Mum. Then the witch’s thick glasses caught and refracted the light into rainbows on the wall. 

 

“Lily, dear. It is time to wake up. Thank you for switching chairs with me for so long, but it is high time that our arrangement ended.”

 

Time moved strangely, and before she could form a coherent thought Trelawney had Lily standing and was trying to propel her forwards toward the lit portal. “Wait. Where’s Harry?”

 

“Out there, Lily. The war is over and your brave boy saved us all. Severus will take you to him.”

 

The frizzy-haired and bespectacled witch stopped at the door and embraced Lily who was still struggling to understand what was happening.

 

“Severus?! Why would he be with Harry?”

 

The witch pulled back and lifted a hand with an expression of deep regret. “Lily, I am so sorry but we don’t have time to chat. You must wake up and remember. Severus has been watching over Harry for the last two decades. You will remember everything as I saw it.”

 

A skeletally thin hand patted her on the cheek as she stared out into the light. Things were coming back to her, bleeding through her barriers like an ice cube melting in hot tea. 

 

“The war… so many good people lost.”

 

“I know dear, but it is all really over this time.” She paused to add, “Don’t be too hard on Severus. After all, this is true love’s kiss we are talking about.”

 

Lily’s eye flew open wide. “What?!”

 

Instead of an answer, a hand at the small of her back sent her sprawling clumsily through the bright portal, straight into the arms of a familiar wizard who was kissing her tenderly. 

 

She felt hot all over, like the opposite of a disillusionment charm, that started at her toes and rolled up her body. Her legs were rubbery and she grabbed the closest solid thing for support. 

 

Snape’s eyes widened and he jerked back in barely controlled surprise. “Lily?”

 

Memories flooded her mind, seen through another’s point of view. Clinging to her lost friend, she wept in astonishment at the overwhelming flood of mixed joy and grief. It was so intense that it all threatened to wash her away. 

 

James, Sirius, Remus… Dumbledore.  _ All gone _ . 

 

Harry was alive, living for himself at last. Her dear, brave, brilliant boy. 

 

At length, she was able to calm herself enough to turn her attention back to the man, the rock to whom she clung. “Severus?” 

 

She took in those worry lines, the nose that had surely been broken several more times since she last saw him, and the gauntness about his face. Threads of silver gathered at his temples, but she was glad to see he’d kept his hair long. 

 

There were wet spots from her tears on his favourite Sex Pistols concert shirt, the one that used to make his father angry. Severus looked fit, even with the painful looking scars on his neck. 

 

A feeling of belonging, of home, blossomed inside of her. Here in his arms, she might find happiness again. She’d forgiven Severus before the attack, when Dumbledore met with her and James to share the details of his first plan to guarantee their safety and that of their baby. 

 

That baby was now a man, who would not have lived without the help of Severus Snape, her oldest friend. She tried to put all of these feelings into her smile, one meant just for him. 

 

Snape’s worried eyes softened as he smiled back at her, “Welcome back, Lily.”  
  


 

* * *

 

Harry sat amongst the flotsam and jetsam of wrapping and toys, watching with pleasure as Teddy gambolled about the living room, chasing his new puppy, screeching. He was only three years old, and Aunt Andromeda had threatened Harry with dismemberment if he tried to give his Godson a broomstick, so a puppy seemed like a fair replacement. 

 

At least to Harry. 

 

In retrospect, he probably should have discussed it with her first, as Pup would be going home with her. 

 

It was the first Christmas that he’d spent at Grimmauld Place, as it had taken years to refurbish the property, dismantling the Black family wards and enchantments that infested the place down to its foundation. Bill Weasley had given the opinion that Harry would do better to raze the whole thing and start afresh. Stubborn, Harry refused to take the easy way out, although he was sure that Sirius would have agreed with Bill wholeheartedly. If only he were alive. 

 

He was grateful for his godson Teddy and his girlfriend, Ginny. Training to be an Auror left him with so very little time to spend with them, and he craved more. These two people were the brightest spots in his life, the heart of his family. It was rounded out with the rest of the Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, and of course, Luna. 

 

Grimmauld was finally a safe place to live, Harry was home at last. He had happy memories here that outweighed the spectres, some of the few times he spent with a family who loved him. At Christmas, he almost could hear Sirius singing, “God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs,” as though he were in the next room. 

 

There was a knock at the door, which puzzled him. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Ginny would be joining them later, after spending the morning at the Burrow, but she had access to the wards. 

 

Who could it be? Carolers wouldn’t be at the door so early and he wasn’t expecting anyone. 

 

As the Boy Who Lived Twice, he’d also made plenty of enemies. Therefore, it was with an abundance of caution that he approached the door. 

 

The peephole afforded him a partial view, through which he thought he could make out Severus Snape lifting his fist to pound on the door once more. What didn’t make sense was that the usually taciturn man was smiling.  _ Happy.  _

 

Throwing open the door, Harry held up his wand in Snape’s face. “What spell did I almost kill Draco Malfoy with?” 

 

Smile dropping from his lips, Snape answered with a sneer. “Paranoid, Potter? Very well.  _ Sectumsempra _ . And might I add, without being hexed for taking the trouble, a Merry Christmas to you.” 

 

Harry stared up at Snape. That was the snarky, biting wit he knew and respected. Belatedly nodding once, he dropped his wand and offered a hand to shake in greeting. “Thank you. Um, Happy Christmas to you too, Headmaster. Won’t you come in?” 

 

What the heck was the usually buttoned-up man wearing? Denim and the Sex Pistols? Too bad Ron wasn’t here to see. He’d lose his mind. 

 

“I won’t stay long, no need to worry that I’ll be trespassing on your festivities. I have brought with me someone who very much wants to meet you, Mr Potter.” 

 

Severus stepped to the side and revealed the slight form of a red-haired woman who was frowning up at the irritated Headmaster. She wasn’t frightened of him in the least, for she harped at him, “What do you mean you can’t stay long? What could you possibly have to do up in that cold dusty castle that could possibly be more pressing than sharing a Christmas Pudding with me?” 

 

Jaw dropping, Harry recognised that voice. He’d only heard it in nightmares and in his times of greatest need. 

 

Snape appeared to be caught off guard, “Lily, I thought that you’d want to spend some time catching up with your son. I’d only be in the way.” 

 

The woman reached up and grabbed Snape’s ear, making possibly the most powerful wizard Harry knew, whinge like a schoolboy. “Alright, Lily. Alright! _ Ow.  _ Let go of me, witch!” 

 

Emphatically not letting go, she towed him past Harry into the hallway. It made an amusing scene, Snape flailing in an effort to stay upright, at the mercy of a feisty red-haired witch. 

 

Harry was beginning to believe that he was dreaming, or perhaps there was something hallucinogenic in the Christmas Tea that Andromeda brewed. “Who is... what is going on?” Did Snape just say, Lily?!

 

“Harry, dear. Do shut your mouth. And the door too. No need to heat all of London.” 

 

Lily finally let Snape go with a single shake of her finger in his face as if to say “stay put” and turned to open her arms to her son, at long last. “Come give us a hug, Harry.” 

 

A strangled, “Mum?!” Ripped from Harry’s lips and he launched into her arms, leaving Snape to close the front door with a wave of his wand. 

 

Two heads poked into the hallway from the living room, curious as to the source of the racket that poured from the reunited Mother and Son. 

 

Amidst the laughing, shouting and happy tears, Andromeda had the presence of mind to greet Severus. “Happy Christmas, Headmaster. Would you like a cup of tea? I do hope you’ll stay for supper.” 

 

Teddy toddled over and reached his arms up in a clear demand to be picked up by Snape, which after a moment’s hesitation, the ex-Death Eater did, settling the child on his hip. “Tea, perhaps.” 

 

Lily turned around, declaring, “Of course he will stay for supper. He woke me with true love’s kiss just this morning. I’m not letting that wizard out of my sight!” 

 

Gazing up at Snape in awe, Harry nodded his agreement. “Of course you must stay! Plenty of food, sir. I want to hear the whole story from you both!” 

 

Being stared down by two pairs of emerald green eyes was too much for the staid Headmaster. An expression of shock on Snape’s face lasted only a fleeting moment before he growled, “ _ Gryffindors. _ ” 

 

As mother and son laughed, Teddy changed, growing an oversized hooked nose to match Snape’s. Reaching up to pat Severus’ most prominent feature, the toddler crowed, “Cwistmas Nose!” 

 

Harry could not recall a moment when he’d been happier, for this was every Christmas Wish he’d ever made come true.

 


End file.
